Hanging in Suspension
by sk8r-grl
Summary: It was supposed to be a routine haunting. You know, salt and burn. That kind of everyday crap. Dean was used to it. Sam was used to it. Castiel was getting used to it. But something happens that will stop one of these brave men in their tracks. Oneshot.


It was supposed to be a routine haunting. You know, salt and burn. That kind of everyday crap. Dean was used to it. Sam was used to it. Castiel was getting used to it, although he was still lacking on the whole "talking to normal people like a normal person" front. But anyway, it was just another routine haunting. Or, it started out that way.

Dean and Sam dug something up online about a pretty nasty ghost down in Austin, Texas. Apparently, some deranged homeless man had been shot to death in a park there seventy years ago and his ghost was tormenting the walkers, joggers, and pretty much anyone in the old park. Dean had invited Castiel along. Well, to be honest, Castiel had begged to go. Dean was apprehensive due to his friend's newfound humanity. But after Castiel turned those big, blue eyes on him, Dean couldn't refuse. The dude's eyes were as blue as the ocean and as pleading as a puppy's; Dean didn't have much of a chance to say no.

"Get this," Sam says as he turns away from his laptop to look at Dean and Cas. The trio had arrived in Austin in the early hours of the morning the day before and is squatting in a ghetto apartment building right across the street from the park.

"What is it?" Dean asks, coming to peer over his brother's shoulder at the monitor.

"So, _apparently_, there was no weapon on Mr. Roy West when the policeman gunned him down seventy years ago. The officer who shot him said it was self-defense, but he also had a sort of history with Roy. And, apparently, Roy's body was buried somewhere in the park." Sam's eyebrows go up when he says the last sentence.

Dean skims through the article and nods. "_Roy_… Man, I still can't get over that name. Is that a terrible name, or what?"

"Why not?" Castiel is right behind Dean, leaning over the older Winchester's shoulder to squint at the screen, too. He's almost laying on top of Dean.

"Man, get off me!" Dean exclaims, started by Cas's closeness.

"My apologies," Castiel says with a look of hurt and confusion.

"Well, whatever," Dean shakes his head. "Apparently this son of a bitch spooks around at dusk. So, we have a couple of hours to kill. Who's hungry?"

Two hours and a couple cheap burgers later, Team Free Will is suited up and heading to the park. It's around eighty-five degrees when they head out, pretty mild for a Texas summer, but still too hot for the boys to wear their usual amount of layers. Dean has his lucky pistol tucked in his pants, his grey tee-shirt hanging loosely over it so no one could see. Sam has salt, a lighter, and a small container of gasoline stashed in a small, Nike backpack that he carried on his shoulders. Castiel is assigned the Gatorade bottle of Holy water—no one really wants him to wield a weapon just yet. They briskly stroll through the park, looking somewhat out-of-place in their tee-shirts and jeans—the whole park is filled with people in black clothes and layers.

"Is some kind of goth-fest going on?" Dean asks.

Sam frowns with a shrug as a man with several dozen facial piercings slides in between the trio. Tattoos and piercings fill the park along with the sound of rock and roll music. There is a live band playing somewhere in the distance and many of the booths are blaring metal songs of their own. Dean is about to stop at a booth selling alligator jerky when a scream from the jogging trail attracts their attention.

"That's our cue," Sam mutters as he, Dean, and Cas start running through the park.

Castiel is wary of all the leather and mesh-clad citizens around him and says "pardon me" while he squints at these dark people every time he or Dean bumps into anyone. The water bottle is clutched in his hands as if he's gonna try to exorcise someone ASAP. "Be cool, Cas," Dean grumbles, taking Castiel's sleeve in his hand to loosen the man's grip on the bottle.

They reach a cluster of people surrounding a stage where—what was that? A rack?—is set up on top of it. The little emo show or whatever-it-was is blocking the entrance to the jogging trail and Sam shoots Dean an annoyed look as he begins to weave through the crowd. A couple men are moving around on the stage, but none of the guys can really see what's going on over the heads of all the others in front of them. They push their way to the front and are off, away from the stage and heading to the trail when Dean's peripheral vision betrays him. He stops short, breath hitching in his throat. He feels like the world is moving in slow-motion as he turns to face the stage.

A man is hanging from the racks. Hooks are piercing his flesh. He is suspended from the ground. Screams echo in Dean's head. The wind rustles. Hell. Hell was so cold. The man on the racks throws up his fists in triumph. _The righteous man sheds blood in hell._ Fists slamming on Dean's jaw as he is suspended.

"Dean! Dean, come on!" Sam's voice echoes, but it sounds so far away.

The man on the rack sticks out his tongue. Forked tongues. Fire. Ice. _If you want off the rack, boy, you know what you gotta do._ The hooks. Dean's breathing becomes labored. He can feel the hooks ripping through his muscles. White hot.

"Dean?" Sam is far away in a tunnel.

Dean turns to where the voice is coming from. Sam is a million miles away. "You go on, Sam." He struggles to find his voice. It's weak and raw. Has he been screaming? Is he screaming in Hell? "I'll… I'll catch up." He doubles over, hands on his knees.

"Cas! Take care of Dean!"

Castiel's hands are suddenly there, helping him to stand. Dean's knees feel like jello. One hand of Cas's instinctively goes to Dean's shoulder atop the somewhat-exposed scar he had left. Dean winces. Wings and hellfire and a struggle. _I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._ Dean lets Cas lead him to a bench where the stage is out of his field of vision. Dean falls to a seat and leans over, placing his head between his knees. He feels like he might vomit. Castiel's hand is on his back, rubbing his shoulder blades. After a few minutes, the urge to puke passes and Dean sits up slightly. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. Castiel removes his hand from Dean's back.

The sun is disappearing. "Thanks, Cas," Dean mutters, running a hand down his face. "I dunno what happened… I…" his voice trails off as he gazes at his shoes.

"Was it…" Cas stops himself, looking at Dean through squinted eyes to see if he should as the question on the tip of his tongue. Dean meets his gaze and a sad look covers the hunter's face. "Was it hell?" Castiel utters, furrowing his eyebrows with concern.

Dean purses his lips and nods, breaking eye contact and gazing out at the trail. Another minute of silence passes before Dean is able to speak. "It's like I was back there… Like… I knew I was here, but in my mind—" he shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel apologizes, emotions swirling inside him like a tsunami. "I wish I could have gotten to you sooner… I wish I could have borne that burden for you."

"No, I deserved hell." Dean says quietly. "I made the deal. I knew the price."

Castiel frowns at Dean. "Don't say these things." Dean looks up at his friend. "You did not deserve to be there. You are a good man."

Dean scoffs quietly as he raises to be sitting upright. "Thanks for the pep-talk, but you're only saying that 'cuz you're my friend."

Castiel lifts up the sleeve of Dean's shirt and covers the handprint with his hand. "Dean, I raised you and I will not let you think such harsh things about yourself. You deserved to be saved. I only wish I could have done more for you. I should have healed your memories, blocked them… I should have protected you better."

Dean stares at Cas momentarily before reaching up and patting the angel's hand that is still pressed to the scar on his shoulder. Cas lets his hand fall back into his lap and Dean smiles weakly at the man and says, "To be honest, I wouldn't change a damn thing. I mean, yeah, hell did suck, but the best angel in the garrison saved my sorry ass and is now my best friend… " Dean pauses, eye flitting to the ground. He looks up at Cas from under his lashes as he says, "Hell, you're family, Cas."

Castiel's lips tilt upwards in a small grin.

"And now, we can protect each other."

Castiel nods and they sit in comfortable silence until Sam returns a half hour later. The lanky boy is covered in dirt, lighter fluid, and has a small cut above his eyebrow. "Well, I'm glad you two lovebirds decided to help me out." He huffs jokingly.

"Lovebirds are not native to this area, Sam." Castiel says with a look of confusion.

Dean lets out a breathy laugh before he pushes himself up off the bench. "You okay?" Sam questions with a look of deep concern.

Dean nods with a smirk on his face. "I'm okay, Sammy." He responds, gazing at Castiel who stands beside him. They share a smile before heading out of the park, shoulders brushing as the angel invades Dean's personal bubble. But Dean doesn't mind so much. He has to learn to get used to all of Castiel's quirks. They were going to be together for a long time—maybe forever—and Dean thinks he may just be a little grateful for hell because it brought him Cas.


End file.
